


Journeys II: Corulag

by Mengde



Series: Sith Apprentice: Darth Venge [14]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Gen, M/M, Polyamory, Sith Obi-Wan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-01
Updated: 2017-02-03
Packaged: 2018-09-03 11:33:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 18,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8711008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mengde/pseuds/Mengde
Summary: As the war between the CIS and the Jedi Order intensifies, Venge is dispatched to the besieged world of Corulag on a desperate mission, accompanied by Maul and his padawan, Ahsoka.  On their success hinges the entire course of the war against the Sith - but that success might come at the cost of Venge's soul.





	1. The Sith Strike

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Re-Entry Official Timeline](https://archiveofourown.org/works/913029) by [flamethrower](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flamethrower/pseuds/flamethrower). 



> Hello and welcome to the next story in the Sith Apprentice series! As always, credit for originally creating the character of Venge goes to flamethrower and her Re-Entry series.

The galaxy floated in mesmerizingly intricate detail above Dooku’s head.  Its stars burned a number of different colors, depending upon that system’s affiliation in the war: red for Jedi, green for CIS, purple for Republic, orange for Hutt, blue for unaligned.

He was currently concerned with a magnified section of the galactic disc.  Within that section, more than sixty blue stars had turned red.

“It would seem the Hapan gambit has miscarried,” his master observed.

Resisting the urge to swallow out of nervousness, Dooku turned to the spindly figure seated in the swiveling chair at the fore of _Invisible Hand_ ’s observation deck.  Darth Plagueis’s pale yellow eyes seemed almost to glow with their own luminescence, though Dooku knew intellectually it was nothing more than reflected light from the galaxy holo.  “For the moment, my lord,” he said.  “We failed to anticipate that Amidala’s bodyguard might –”

“‘We?’” Plagueis asked.

Now Dooku did swallow.  “ _I_ ,” he said, forcing the word out.  “ _I_ failed to anticipate this turn of events.”

“Yes,” Plagueis confirmed.  “You have indeed failed.  But you believe the situation might yet be turned to our advantage?”

“Our collaborator remains unidentified,” Dooku confirmed quickly.  “With the proper leverage, we may still be able to flip the Consortium.”

“Very well.”  Plagueis waved a hand, dismissing the galaxy holo.  “What is the progress of Project Vev?”

Dooku retrieved a datapad from his pocket, glad to be off of the subject of Hapes for now.  “Two hundred and ninety of the rejects have been successfully grafted with the cyborg implants and absorbed the flash-learning package.  Forty-eight suffered rejection syndrome or insanity from the flash-learning exposure.”  He looked up at Plagueis.  “Nine hundred and fifty-two remain.”

A rasping sigh escaped Plagueis’s respirator.  “You see, Tyranus?  Even failures still have their uses.”

The remark stung, but Dooku bore it without complaint.  “Yes, my lord.”

“Have we analyzed the performance data from the deployed unit?”

“He – it – fought Knights Aayla Secura and Siri Tachi for several minutes before falling.  Phrik armor for the torso might have –”

“We lack the supply for that,” Plagueis cut him off.  “It is already expensive enough to manufacture the limbs and helms.”

“What of the cortosis mine on Baldemnic?”

“It is being tapped to capacity to create meshes for Super Battle Droids.  It will not be reallocated.”

Dooku bowed his head.  “Yes, my lord.”

Plagueis sucked the air contemplatively for a few moments.  “What of our overall position?”

“The CIS outnumbers the Order and its clone army by several tens of thousands to one,” Dooku replied.  “However, they remain an essentially mobile force, accepting manufacturing and supply contracts in exchange for protection from our forces.  As they do not occupy any world but Kamino, they are free to redeploy at will.

“Those worlds they take from the CIS are either returned to their own planetary governments, or given to the Republic, which has raised a substantial army through propaganda and conscription – enough to allow them to occupy those worlds and defend them.”  He shrugged.  “Frankly, my lord, our position is tenuous at best.  We cannot muster enough forces to take Kamino without exposing key planets to the Jedi and Republic both.  It is too well-defended.”

Plagueis shook his head.  “You disappoint me, Lord Tyranus.  How do you fight an enemy?”

Frowning, Dooku had the unpleasant sense that his life was suddenly balanced on a knife edge.  “I test their strength and then attack their weaknesses,” he said carefully.

“And if they have no weakness?”

“Then I create one, either by turning their strength against them or negating it.”

“What is the Jedi’s strength?”

He suddenly understood.  “As I have just said, my lord,” Dooku replied, more confident now.  “The impregnability of Kamino, and the mobility of their forces.”

“Precisely.  Kamino will only grow stronger as they reinforce their shields, establish more orbital defenses, and continue clone production.  But they cannot become more mobile than they already are.  That, therefore, must be our avenue of attack.”  Plagueis gestured, and the holoprojector reactivated.  It now displayed an image of a blue-green world with huge swaths of grey cityscape.

“Corulag?” Dooku guessed.

“Correct,” Plagueis acknowledged.  “Still a loyal member of the Republic, but its government has set up supply routes for the Order in exchange for protection.”

“Do we take the world, then?” Dooku asked.  He had no idea how this fit into the strategy of making the Jedi less mobile, and knew better than to pretend he did.

“Yes,” his master hissed.  “But we do not simply take it.  That would be much too simple.  When we are done, Tyranus, Corulag will be the site of the Order’s greatest defeat in a thousand years.”

* * *

Justicar Venge was not ashamed to admit it.  He loved his work.

He picked up CIS General Lok Durd by the collar and hurled the obese Neimoidian across the laboratory.  Durd smashed into a table covered in glass vials and beakers, shattering them and crushing the table flat.  The piece of filth screamed pitifully and curled up into a ball, whimpering for mercy.

Behind Venge stood Doctor Ban’tena Fhernan, a human woman with prodigious abilities in the fields of biochemistry and gene modification.  She watched in silence, but Venge could feel the relief and glee coming off of her in waves.

“Did it make you feel powerful to beat her when she failed you?” Venge asked Durd.  He gestured at Fhernan’s bruised cheeks and blackened eye.  “Did you enjoy it?”

“Please, my lord!” Durd wailed, abjectly groveling.  “It is war!  I am only following the orders of Count Dooku!”

Venge ignited his lightsaber, the silver blade appearing with a hiss.  “If you’re so good at following orders, then follow these.  Call off the men you have watching the Doctor’s family and friends.”

“Of course!  Of course, my lord!” Durd babbled.  “It will take only a moment!”

He began to reach for the commlink at his hip, but stopped and flailed desperately as Venge wrapped the Force around his neck like a noose.  “Keep in mind,” Venge said, his tone measured and casual.  “I _will_ know if you give any code words or signals to tell your people you’re under duress.  Code words like –” he closed his eyes briefly and stabbed into the Neimoidian’s mind with the Force – “‘the operation is terminated.’”

Durd gagged as Venge gave the invisible noose a yank before releasing it.  After gasping and wheezing for several seconds, Durd finally croaked out, “Of course, my lord.  Please – in exchange, take me prisoner.  My life is forfeit if I stay with the CIS.”

“Fine,” Venge said, projecting boredom.  “I’ll spare your life.”  Behind him, Fhernan stirred, a hot flash of anger searing through the Force, and he spared a moment to shake his head at her.  _Not yet._

Durd made thirteen calls in all, every one ringing with truth and desperate sincerity.  After he had finished, he looked expectantly at Venge.

“Doctor?” Venge asked.

“That’s all of them,” Fhernan confirmed.  “Thank you, master Jedi.”

“Oh, I’m not a Jedi.”  Venge grinned at her.  “Not even remotely.”  Deactivating his lightsaber, he presented it to her.

“What are you doing?” Durd shrieked as Fhernan hesitantly took the weapon.  “You said –”

“The Jedi Order has very limited room for prisoners,” Venge said.  “And I told you _I’d_ spare you life.  Doctor Fhernan is under no such obligation.”  He turned back to her.  “This is the activation stud,” he added helpfully.  “Have fun.”

The color had drained from Fhernan’s face, but her expression was grim and her eyes burned with murderous anger.

Venge stepped out of the lab to give her some privacy.  From behind him he could hear the snap-hiss of the blade reigniting, and Durd’s cries of, “Please, my dear, don’t!  Please, my dear Doctor Fhernan!”

“I,” she spat, “am not your _dear._ ”

The door closed behind Venge.  The sounds of Neimoidian screaming were muffled, but unmistakable.

His commlink began to buzz.  Frowning, he pulled it out.  It was unusual to receive a call when he was on a mission; the Order knew better.  Something had to have happened, something important.

Thrawn’s image genied into holographic life before him, only a few inches tall.  “Justicar Venge.  Can you talk safely?”

“Yes.  The mission is essentially accomplished,” Venge replied.  “I just need to exfil.  Doctor Fhernan is secure.”

“And General Durd?”

Venge hesitated, enhanced his hearing with the Force.  It now sounded as though Fhernan was beating Durd with the saber hilt, if the wet thuds and crunches were any indication.

“Neutralized,” he said.

“Excellent.”  Thrawn’s expression, despite the good news, remained grim.  “Return to Kamino with all speed.  The CIS has attacked Corulag in overwhelming force, and are executing ‘collaborators’ by the thousands.  We must have all our resources ready in response.”

Venge grimaced.  “Understood.  I should be less than a day.”

“Good.  _Manticore_ out.”  The Chiss’s image faded away.

The sounds of violence had ceased.  Venge reentered the lab to see Fhernan kneeling over what remained of Durd, the bloodied lightsaber hilt in her grip.  She was weeping silently.

“Are you ready to leave?” Venge asked her.

Sniffing, she got to her feet.  “Yes.  Since the day I woke up in this place.”

Venge accepted his saber back, wiped the blood off.  “Is there anything of use to the CIS here?”

“Yes.  We need to destroy the entire facility.”

He grinned.  “Oh, that can be arranged.  My ship has some very effective guns.”

The two of them walked out of the lab, leaving Durd’s remains to rot.


	2. The More Things Change

Thirteen hours later, Venge strode into the war room in Tipoca City.  “I’m back.”

Vice-Admiral Anakin Skywalker looked up from the strategic holodisplay.  He still kept his hair long, but now he had pulled it back into a severe ponytail, and had begun to cultivate a neatly-trimmed beard.  Between that, and the black-and-silver uniform he wore instead of his Jedi robes, he was a very different man from the one Venge had seen on Dantooine months earlier.  He still kept Qui-Gon’s lightsaber clipped to his belt. 

“Justicar Venge,” he said with a grin.  “Good to see you again.”

They embraced, Venge clapping him on the back with his flesh-and-blood hand.  “The new look suits you,” Venge said.  “How did Yoda take it?”

“Not well, but technically I work for Thrawn rather than Yoda now.  And while Thrawn answers to Yoda, he _is_ the one running the vast majority of the war effort.”  Anakin shrugged.  “It’s working out.  I still get to command, and I don’t have to worry about representing the Jedi or following dogma.”

Venge nodded.  “Speaking of –”

“They’re on their way from a meeting with the Sluissi,” Anakin replied.  “The shipyards at Sluis Van are going to start manufacturing fighters and bombers for us.  At least, they were before Corulag was taken.”

That prompted a grimace from Venge.  “It’s obviously a trap.”

“Obviously,” Anakin agreed.  “But we promised protection in exchange for their supplies.  If we fail to meet the first major test of that promise, we’ll lose our allies.  We’ll have to start occupying CIS worlds ourselves to keep a manufacturing and support infrastructure, and we don’t have the troops for that yet.  We might not ever have them.”

Before Venge could reply, familiar presences in the Force blossomed at the far end of the dark war room.  A door slid open, revealing the blinding white of the halls beyond.  Through it stepped Grandmaster Yoda, Lord Admiral Thrawn, Ambassador Amidala, and Warmaster Mace Windu.

Venge inclined his head as they moved up to the strategic holodisplay.  Padmé stood next to him, on his left side, giving his hand a squeeze and his cheek a kiss.  “Welcome back,” she said.  “How did it go on Lanteeb?”

“Smoothly,” Venge replied.  “Durd is dead.  Fhernan is getting settled into quarters here.”

“Will she join the project to develop a termination mechanism for the clones’ accelerated maturation?” Thrawn asked.

“She agreed to it on the flight here,” Venge answered.  “Out of gratitude for the rescue.”

Yoda made a satisfied noise in his throat.  “Glad to hear it, I am.  Their childhoods, these men have already sacrificed.  The rest of their lives, they should not be forced to sacrifice also.”

“Indeed.”  Thrawn tapped at the holodisplay’s controls with long blue fingers.  An image of Corulag appeared, surrounded by a veritable swarm of red dots in orbit.  “Approximately nineteen galactic standard hours ago, a massive CIS invasion force arrived at Corulag.  Fifteen hours ago, they took the planet.  Shortly after that, this announcement was made on the HoloNet.”

The image of Corulag was replaced by the skeletal, inhuman features of Darth Plagueis.  Radiation-yellow eyes glowered from beneath a hooded brow, and the sounds of his respirator filled the room.  “The Confederacy of Independent Systems is pleased to announce that its armies have liberated the world of Corulag from its Republic oppressors,” he said.  “In the interests of security, we have begun a search-and-detain effort to root out Jedi spies.  We hope this measure will keep the citizens of Corulag safe.”

Thrawn switched off the announcement.  “There is more, but that is the germane section.  I take it upon myself to remind all of you that the Separatists do not take prisoners.”

“They’re rounding innocent people up on trumped-up charges and shooting them,” Windu growled, his eyes blazing.  “We can’t let this go on.  As Warmaster of the Jedi Order, I’m mustering a force of two thousand Knights and fifty Masters to help retake the planet.  They’ll be assembled in thirty hours.”

Anakin cleared his throat.  “Begging your pardon, Master Windu, but I’m not sure brute force is going to work here.”

Windu’s expression darkened, but he remained calm.  “Explain.”

“The CIS knows it can’t take us in fair fights,” Anakin said, beginning to list points off on his fingers.  “They also know they can’t afford to overextend themselves, because we don’t worry about battle lines in the traditional sense.  We can strike pretty much anywhere, _very_ hard, if they’re vulnerable.

“This Corulag invasion follows the rule of bringing overwhelming numbers, but it breaks the rule of never overextending.  It’s very deep in the Core and hard to supply.  They know they can’t keep the world for long.  So they’ve added in this counting chrono element to force us into a confrontation on their terms.  One that would be too costly for us to consider feasible.”

“I agree with the Vice Admiral,” Thrawn said quietly as Windu opened his mouth to object.  “The correct response to this threat is to strike at targets left vulnerable by the CIS’s reallocation of their forces, and to disrupt all possible supply lines to the world the CIS might use to maintain their grip.  When the cost of holding Corulag grows too dear, they will withdraw.  Then we liberate the planet, and offer relief efforts.”

Padmé spoke for the first time since the briefing had started in earnest.  “We can’t do that.  It’ll be perceived as reneging on our promise to Corulag.  We _have_ to turn up and make a fight of it.”

“Agreed,” Windu said fervently.  “I understand the strategic considerations here, but these are innocent lives we’re talking about.”  He gave Anakin a pointed look as he said, “Lives the _Jedi_ are sworn to defend.”

Venge felt Anakin’s ripple of irritation, but now Yoda spoke.  “A middle ground, there must be.”

“Grandmaster?” Thrawn asked, his voice cool.

“Make punitive strikes into CIS space we should,” Yoda said.  “Discouraged, these tactics must be.  But fight for Corulag too, we must.”  He magnified the image of the Separatist fleet.  “Undeployed forces we have within four days’ travel of Corulag.  Sufficient numbers they have to fight this CIS fleet.”

Venge got it.  “The Hapans,” he said.

“Yes.  Aid Corulag, they can.”

“Their fleet is primarily made up of Battle Dragon cruisers and Nova battle cruisers,” Thrawn said.  “These ships possess advanced ion cannon technology, but their turbolasers and targeting computers lag badly behind our own in terms of efficacy.  They could certainly fight the CIS capital ships and win, but the droid starfighters aboard those ships would annihilate them.”

“Then I go in and remove the fighters from the equation,” Venge said.  “Corulag is three days from here.  I’ll plan on the way.  Dispatch the Hapans as soon as I leave.  If twenty-four hours isn’t enough time for me to prepare the field for them, I don’t deserve my title.”

The others were silent as they considered.  Finally, Windu spoke up.  “Maul and his Padawan will be arriving in the next hour.  Take a stealth ship and have them go with you.”

Venge considered protesting, but the truth was that he was glad to have Maul along.  Two was better than one for a mission like this.

As for Tano – well, he hoped she wouldn’t get in the way.

* * *

The Jedi stealth transport was a sleek, black dagger with room for four.  Its sensor cross-section was one of the smallest in existence, and it was capable of damping all its heat, radiation, and other potential giveaways for close to an hour.  It wasn’t as good as Venge’s old Infiltrator, with its Stygium-crystal cloak, but it was the next best thing.

Venge sat in the cockpit, running the ship through its preflight sequence.  It was a much longer series of tests than usual, since the ship had to verify the integrity of its stealth systems.  He didn’t mind, however, since Maul and Ahsoka had yet to arrive and it gave him more time to catch up with Padmé.  She had taken the co-pilot’s seat, filling him in on the various missions she’d undertaken in the weeks since he’d last seen her.

“And then we discovered that the Lumati seal alliances by having the two chief negotiators have sex, and broadcasting it on the HoloNet,” Padmé was saying.  “Nobody had thought to include this in the diplomatic brief, an oversight I can only assume was made intentionally because someone thought it would be funny.”

Venge snorted.  “So?  Did you have sex with the Lumati primarch?”

“Considering that the Lumati are enormous, eight-legged reptiles with tentacles for manipulators, I did not,” Padmé said.  “I gave him a kiss on the cheek, and said that was how humans passed genetic material to one another.  That’s technically not a lie – some trace amounts of my genes certainly got onto his skin.”

“Do you think they’ll ever figure out you didn’t do the actual deed?”

Padmé shrugged.  “What are your chances of ever doing a HoloNet search for a video detailing the mating habits of the Lumati?”

“I would say they’re zero, but I don’t think that accurately conveys the depths of my desire _not_ to do that.”

“Then I think the chances are similar for the Lumati.  It’s a traditional thing for them.  They don’t derive pleasure from sex the way we do.  The very concept of titillation is alien to them.”

Venge flipped a switch on his board to acknowledge the green lights from the pre-flight check.  “A thought occurs,” he said.  “You told the primarch that a kiss on the cheek is our method.  So did he kiss you back?”

“A lady never kisses and tells,” Padmé replied in a prim, slightly offended tone.

He grinned at her.  “I wish we had more time.”

“I do too.  When did you last see Rex?”

“A week after I last saw you.  I wish he were here, too.  That last sabaac game we played was excellent.  Though that could have been the amount of alcohol we’d all consumed.”

“I’m sure that played a role.”  Padmé laid a hand atop his.  “Be careful, Venge.  I’m not Force sensitive, but I still have a bad feeling about this.”

He covered her hand in his own and gave it an affectionate squeeze.  “I’ll take your intuition over that of most of the Jedi Masters’,” he said.  “I’ll be careful.”

She leaned in to kiss him, and he put all thoughts of the Lumati primarch out of his mind as he returned it.  It was enjoyable for about five seconds before someone outside the cockpit cleared their throat.

Venge broke off the kiss and looked through the doorway to the cockpit.  Maul stood just beyond, arms crossed, his expression suggesting faint impatience.  Behind _him_ was his little Togruta Padawan, Ahsoka.

“Maul,” Venge said.  “If we ever need to weaponize moment-killing, you will be the first being I turn to.”

The Zabrak Jedi raised his hairless brows a fraction of an inch.  “I will take that as a compliment,” he said.  Turning to Padmé, he bowed slightly.  “Ambassador.  Please pardon us.  We must be going.”

“Of course.”  Padmé gave Venge a final kiss, then pulled Maul into a hug.  He stood there, looking vaguely uncertain of what to do, for a moment.  Then he returned the gesture.  “May the Force be with you,” she told them.

“Thanks!” Ahsoka chirped.  “You too!”

With one last smile for Venge, Padmé turned and headed out the back of the ship.  Venge waited until the exterior cam confirmed she was off the ramp before retracting it and sealing the craft.

“So,” Venge said.  “Are we ready to save a world?”

Maul seated himself in the co-pilot’s chair, and Ahsoka took the passenger seat behind him.  “Yes.”

Sighing, Venge keyed for liftoff.  “No enthusiasm whatsoever.  You really know how to suck the drama out of a moment, Maul.”

Maul gave him a wall-eyed stare.  “Yes.”

“How do you stand him?” Venge asked Ahsoka, guiding the ship out of the hangar and into the stormy skies of Kamino.  “Do you just play along, or ignore him?”

Ahsoka gave Venge a stare identical to her Master’s.  “Yes.”

“This is going to be a very long trip,” Venge muttered, and began keying in the course to Corulag.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The whole "having sex to seal a deal" bit is stolen lock, stock, and barrel from Babylon 5. I didn't even change the name of the species. I just love the episode so much.
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_ADGYli7418
> 
> If you can't watch the video, the woman from Babylon 5, Ivanova, spends two minutes doing a ridiculous series of dances interspersed with fake moans, and then tells the guy he was amazing so he doesn't question what happened. See you all next time!


	3. Learning Experiences

“Two hundred and eighty-seven thousand,” Maul said, laying the datapad down on the ship’s small meal table.

Venge arched an eyebrow.  “So a simple lightsaber through the engines is unlikely to work.”

“The odds are low,” Maul agreed.

Ahsoka, who had been heating food packs for the three of them in the tiny galley, poked her head back into the passenger compartment.  “What’s two hundred and eighty-seven thousand?”

“The maximum possible droid starfighter complement of the CIS force orbiting Corulag,” Venge replied, accepting the foil-wrapped box she handed him.  “So in terms of us versus _only_ the fighters, the odds are just north of ninety thousand to one.”

Maul opened his own food pack and began to methodically consume the stew inside.  “We need a way to disable all of them at once.  And we need to implement it as close to the arrival of the Hapan fleet as possible, to ensure the CIS have the least possible amount of time to recover.”

“It might be beneficial to work out how the fighters actually operate,” Venge said, opening his pack.  It smelled like spiced nerf, which was far from his favorite dish but nevertheless palatable.  “Is there a droid control ship, as there was at Naboo?  I’d wager the three of us could destroy a single ship.”

Swallowing a mouthful of stew, Maul shook his head.  “Perhaps for the ground troops, but starfighter AI technology has advanced in the decade since Naboo.  They are independent units now.”

Venge frowned.  “That’s unfortunate.  Perhaps we can tamper with the fleet’s IFF.  If they can’t distinguish friend from foe…”

“Such data is stored separately aboard each of the hundreds of capital ships in the fleet,” Maul countered.  “They are not on a shared network, either.  If we tried opening a comm channel to transmit a virus, they could simply refuse the signal.”

Ahsoka seated herself at the table, opening a pack of her own.  “But the starfighters are,” she said.

Surprised, Venge turned to her.  “Oh?”

“I’ve done some research,” Ahsoka said, spooning stew into her mouth and talking around it.  “Starfighter AI is good, but not as good as living pilots.  They react faster, but they can’t coordinate on an intuitive level.  You know when you’re walking, and someone’s in your path, and you both swerve in the same direction?”

“That stops happening when you reach a certain level of Force awareness,” Venge pointed out.

She waved a hand.  “Whatever.  My point is that droids can’t coordinate which direction they’ll swerve any better than most living beings can.  Now, if those droids have identical algorithms for avoiding a head-on collision –”

Venge got it.  “They would perform exactly the same evasive maneuver and still hit one another.”

“Right!” Ahsoka said excitedly.  “They have to be networked so one can say, ‘My serial number is odd, so I’ll do Evasion One,’ or something.”

“And if the other’s serial number is also odd, there will be other discriminating factors,” Maul said.  “So, being that they must be networked, what is your suggestion, Ahsoka?”

“Well,” the Padawan mused, absentmindedly pushing around the stew in her pack.  “Suppose the CIS comes out with an upgrade for a kind of droid starfighter.  How do they get it out to them?  A hard-link would be too slow.  There has to be some central way to send that information.”

“An update from the droid control computer, probably,” Venge guessed.  “It has the processing power and data architecture already.  Why create a separate device when you have one that will do the job?”

“The Neimoidians certainly would not,” Maul said, lip curling with distaste.  “They are pathologically incapable of spending unnecessary credits unless it is in the pursuit of self-aggrandizement.”

Venge finished the last bite of his stew.  “So.  We get aboard the droid control ship, access the computer, and upload an ‘update’ to the fleet’s fighters which turns them into expensive flimsiweights.  What are the flaws in this plan?”

Realizing he was asking her, Ahsoka quickly swallowed the extra-large mouthful of stew she’d been chewing.  “Uh, time.  I don’t know which language the updates are written in, so I can’t make one on the way there.  I’ll need to access the computer, find an existing one, change it, and send it.  Could take ten minutes, or an hour.  Or two.  I just don’t know.”

Now, Maul pushed his own empty package to the center of the table.  “That means we cannot simply fly into the hangar and make a direct assault.  We will need to sneak aboard.”

“That involves stowing away on a returning droid transport, or in some cargo containers,” Venge agreed.  “Which means going to the surface.”

“But,” Ahsoka pointed out, “there are hundreds of ships.  How will we know that whatever we stow on or in is going to the right ship?”

“Through the power of crime,” Venge replied.  “Being so far into the core, the fleet will have co-opted the use of every planet-based shipping firm to keep it supplied with fuel.  We make contact with one of those shipping companies, tell them we can get business back on track, and they’ll beg to work with us.”

Ahsoka frowned.  “How is that crime?”

“Because,” Venge told her, grinning, “only the marginally legal companies will have their ships outfitted with smuggling compartments.”

* * *

They spent the rest of the flight to Corulag working on alternate plans, but by the time they were ready to drop out of hyperspace, it was clear that their first plan was the best.  And, thanks to Venge’s intelligence network, they even had a name: Gax Forna, a non-clan Hutt who had set up Forna Exports some two hundred years ago on Corulag.  He was known to be the go-to being for slipping items through customs.

Of course, they still needed to make it through the CIS fleet and into the capitol city of Eclisis.

“Well,” Venge said, staring out of the cockpit at the vast force floating between them and the planet.  “The chrono is counting down.  Twenty-three hours and thirty-one minutes.  What’s our best way through this?”

Surveying the tactical readout rather than the fleet itself, Maul replied, “A high-intensity burn to get us moving, and then an unpowered drift into polar orbit.  We should be able to make planetfall from there.”

“Unpowered drifts take time,” Venge pointed out.

“Only an hour in this case.”  Maul raised his hands as if weighing two objects.  “Recall, our plan relies on secrecy.  If the CIS detect _anything,_ even an anomalous reading, it will compel them to even higher levels of vigilance.”

Venge frowned mightily at him.  “You’re right, but I don’t want to admit it.”

“Wasn’t that admitting it?” Ahsoka asked from the passenger seat behind them.

“No.  It only counts if I give a huffy sigh and say ‘you’re right’ in a defeated tone.”  Venge motioned at the controls.  “Shall we get going, then?”

Maul nodded.  He keyed in a heading, brought the stealth systems to maximum power, and initiated a six-second sublight burn to get them moving.  The planet began to slowly grow in size; so did the fleet of CIS ships surrounding it.

“Patience is a Jedi virtue, and I’m _not_ a Jedi,” Venge muttered.  “This is going to be interminable, isn’t it.”

“Master always tells me that things will be worse if I complain about them,” Ahsoka chirped, “because my attitude affects my perception.”

“Good for you.  _I_ feel like complaining.”

It was indeed a long wait, but it turned out to be less than interminable.  As they closed to within proper visual range of the enemy fleet, Maul rolled the craft over for a better view and began having Ahsoka identify each class of vessel and list its strengths and weaknesses.  Venge was impressed – with both of them.  Maul was patient, not rushing Ahsoka’s answers, and when she didn’t know something, he did not berate her; he simply told her the answer and had her repeat it back to him.  For her part, Ahsoka showed an astonishing retention rate and an impressive amount of technical knowledge.  _She knows far more than I do in this area,_ Venge thought.

“Prepare for atmospheric entry,” Maul said as they slid into a polar orbit.  “We will wait until we cross the terminator so the planetary umbra can conceal us, but that is only three minutes out.”  He looked at Venge.  “Where should I be putting down once we are over Eclisis?”

“My contact tells me that when he’s not at home – which is most of the time – Forna spends his time at a… _club_ ,” Venge replied.  “The _Guwatuu Ikiki._   It’s in the entertainment district of downtown.”

“ _Guwatuu Ikiki?_ ” Ahsoka asked.

Venge twisted in his seat to grin at her.  “It’s Huttese.  For ‘frottage.’”

Ahsoka frowned.  “Frottage?”

“Have you had the sex talk yet?”

“No.”

“Then you don’t need to know what frottage is.”

Ahsoka stuck her lip out at him.  “No fair!  I’m helping to fight a _war._   How could this possibly traumatize me more than watching people _die?_ ”

Maul cleared his throat.  “There is a traditional Jedi lecture that every Padawan is given when they turn sixteen.  I can deliver it sooner, Ahsoka, if you are interested.  Just not when we are about to sneak onto an occupied world.”

“All right,” Ahsoka said.  “After we finish the mission?”

“Agreed,” Maul said, and to Venge’s utter astonishment he actually saw the Jedi’s lip twitch in a tiny, brief smile.

As Maul began to take the ship in, Venge leaned in and said, “She should probably wait outside when we go in.”

“I gathered that,” Maul told him.  His voice was drier than the Tatooine desert.

“And it’s a themed club,” Venge continued.  “With a dress code.”

Maul didn’t take his eyes off the instruments, but Venge could see a sudden tension in the lines of the Zabrak’s body.  “I am not going to like this, am I?”

“I would tell you to keep an open mind, because you might learn something new about yourself,” Venge replied.  “But honestly?  No.  No, you won’t.  On an unrelated note, I’m going to go cut my leather vest into some long strips.  Would you classify yourself as a ‘medium’ or a ‘large?’”

Maul said nothing.

“Medium it is,” Venge said, getting up and shucking his vest.  “Tighter is usually better.  That way, I’ll have enough left over for a leash, too.”

“Large,” Maul said.  “ _Large._ ”


	4. Safe, Sane, Conversational

Eclisis was a vast collection of lights gleaming in the blackness – lights which described soaring towers, suburban neighborhoods floating over vast lakes, buildings suspended from nearly vertical cliff faces, and a carefully organized system of roads which ran in grand curves and perfect, massive circles.  As he brought the ship to a stealthy landing atop one of the tallest cloudscrapers, Venge decided that he liked the Eclisian aesthetic.

He liked the patrolling hovertanks and battle droids far less.

“We should only be two or three blocks from Forna’s club,” he said as he put the ship into standby mode.  “We’re counting on you to be our backup, Ahsoka.  If things get out of hand, Maul will Force signal you.  You’ll bring the ship in, blow the roof off, and add a little weight to our bargaining position.”

Ahsoka still didn’t look happy about being left behind, but just as Venge had known it would, the prospect of being vital backup mollified her.  “Got it,” she said with a firm nod.

“Let’s go,” Venge said to Maul.

The Zabrak nodded, looking discomfited.  Without a word, he stood, laid a hand on Ahsoka’s shoulder, and headed for the ramp.

Nominally speaking, the turbolift down from the roof was restricted.  It still only took Maul bare seconds to get it open and working.

The streets were deserted, apart from the droid patrols.  Those, however, were clearly tasked with breaking up large congregations of people, and not watching for pairs of dark-clad Force-users.  Venge and Maul kept to alleyways, back streets, and the occasional single-story roof.  Inside of five minutes, they were at the back-alley entrance to the club.

A Rodian stood guard on the door.  His outfit was a full-body rubber suit with strategic holes cut in it.  He wore a blaster on his hip, as well as a set of clamps on a silver chain, positioned in an area which struck Venge as excessively uncomfortable.

The green-skinned being looked the two of them up and down.  “Private event,” he warbled in accented Basic.  “Go away.”

Venge looked at Maul.  The Zabrak sighed and drew open his robe, revealing the straps of the leather harness fitted snugly around his torso.  For something made in ten minutes from the scraps of an old vest, Venge thought, it looked quite good.

The Rodian made an appreciative noise.  “Twenty credits for him.”  He turned back to Venge.  “Fifty for you.  Unless you got nice stuff under your robe too.”

Raising an eyebrow, Venge said, “He’s the one with the leather fetish.  I just hold his leash.  You want me to spank him, make my point?”

“I watch that,” the Rodian chuckled.  “But no.  Your point made.  Fifty for both.”

Venge tossed him a fifty-cred coin, which the Rodian promptly and improbably disappeared to somewhere inside his suit.  “House rules,” he said, his tone indicating he was now launching into a speech delivered many times.  “No touch without permission.  No watch play without asking.  You play, use gear, clean up after.  You break rule, we break _you._ ”

“Got it,” Venge said.

The Rodian keyed open the door behind him.  “Have fun.”

As soon as they were inside, the bass hit them.  Venge felt it in the soles of his feet and in the pit of his stomach, a steady, rhythmic beat which promised deviance and danger.

Maul left his robe with the coat check, handing his ticket to Venge to hold onto.  “So far, so good,” he said.  “Though I maintain you could have just used a mind trick.”

“And if they’d put a Yinchorri, Toydarian, or other immune species on the door?” Venge pointed out.  “Besides, we’re blending.  You never know how word of two Force users invading a sex club, lightsabers blazing, might travel.”

Lip twisting, Maul nevertheless inclined his head in deference to Venge’s point.

The main space of the club, up an ill-lit flight of stairs, was a dance floor and bar, complete with strobing lights and hundreds of gyrating, grinding sapients in leather, rubber, latex, or other obviously fetishistic materials.  Venge saw full breather masks, hoods, isolation helmets, harnesses, and goggles, as well.  Maul certainly didn’t stand out, but he was far from the most extravagantly attired.

“Up there,” Maul shouted over the boom of the music, nodding at a second-story balcony which was clearly a VIP area.  In the flickering, multi-colored light, Venge could make out the sloping, sluglike silhouette of a Hutt, reclining on a gravbed.

A goat-headed, three-eyed Gran in an immaculately tailored leather suit stopped them as they ascended the stairs.  Venge idly wondered how much extra the being had needed to pay for all the additional nipple holes in the suit, considering that Gran had far more than the galactic average.  “Members only,” he said.

“How much is a membership?” Venge asked.

The Gran sneered, flashing large, square teeth.  “Ten thousand credits.”

“Fine.”  Venge began reaching into his robe.

“Wait, wait wait!” the Gran sputtered.  “Didn’t realize you rolled like that.  Master Forna isn’t having guests tonight.  He’s upset about the occupation disrupting business.”

“We can help get business back on track,” Maul said.  “He will want to see us.”

The Gran narrowed all three eyes.  “How you going to help?”

Venge said nothing.  He merely leaned in, made eye contact with the Gran’s top two stalks, and let the Dark Side manifest in his gaze.

With a half-yelp, half-shriek, the Gran stumbled back, making room for them on the stairs in the process.  Venge moved smoothly through the opening, Maul on his heels.  They stepped into a circle of booths, all of them full of armed and _colorfully_ dressed sapients.

Forna, who was busy drawing vapor from a waterpipe and staring blankly into the distance, blinked.  His great lizard eyes focused on Venge.  “Pretty boy,” he rumbled in Huttese.  His gaze slid to Maul, then up and down the Zabrak’s muscular body.  “Pretty boy with a pretty pet.  What do you want, pretty boy?”

“A private chat,” Venge said.  “About getting business back on track.”

Forna inhaled a long pull from the waterpipe, then expelled a cloud of thick, swirling vapor and Hutt stink into Venge’s face.  “This isn’t Forna’s office, pretty boy.  This is Forna’s club.  Offices are for talking business.  Clubs are for enjoying yourself, and forgetting that the CIS have occupied your planet and are killing your customers.”

“Why risk coming here when people are being killed?” Maul asked.

“They only kill people who are too poor to bribe their way to safety,” Forna sniffed.  “Forna is too rich to worry.  Forna’s customers… not so much.”

“But Forna didn’t get rich by ignoring problems,” Venge prodded.  “You got rich by dealing with them.  Tell me, how much is it costing you per hour, having your shipping business commandeered by the CIS?”

Forna rumbled dangerously.  “Pretty boy knows a lot.  Maybe too much for his own health.”

Maul made an exasperated noise.  “This opportunity vanishes in just over twenty-two hours,” he said.  “If you want the CIS gone, stop posturing and listen.  Else we find another being more accommodating.”

Remaining carefully silent, Venge flicked his gaze between the Zabrak and the Hutt.  Maul’s gambit was risky, considering that it was predicated upon the bluff of their being able to walk away.  In point of fact, there were no other suitable beings on Corulag for this scheme.  It was Forna or nothing.

But Forna didn’t know that.  And being willing to walk away was the ultimate negotiation tactic.

“Say Forna listens,” the Hutt finally said.  “Say the CIS go away thanks to Forna listening.  Money flows again.  Forna is happy.  What makes _you_ happy?  What’s _your_ angle?”

“We’re ideologically opposed to the CIS,” Venge replied.

Forna lolled his huge tongue out of his mouth and roughly drew it across his lips.  “You Jedi.”

“We’re not Jedi,” Venge said.  Which was true; only Maul was a Jedi, after all.

“CIS can work out who is and isn’t Jedi,” Forna said.  “For five hundred thousand a head, Forna won’t have to worry about business expenses for a while.”

Suddenly, all the beings in the booths were standing, blasters in their hands.

Venge sighed.  “You could have stood to profit, Forna.  Now you’re just going to lose a bunch of men, in addition to having to help us.”

“No shiny sticks,” Forna said, waving a tiny hand at Venge and Maul’s belts.  “Weapons scanner would have picked them up as you came in.  No shiny sticks, no threat.”

Venge looked at Maul, inclined his head slightly to the right in a question: _how do you want to handle this?_

Maul raised a hairless brow a fraction of an inch, with a tiny nod toward Forna.  The message was clear: _intimidate him._

“A lot of the attendees are wearing masks,” Venge commented casually to the Hutt.  “I have one too, as it happens.  Would you like to see it?”

Forna gave a loud, gurgling laugh.  “Wear it if you want.  Either way, Forna is still going to make some money tonight.  Take them!”  The henchmen triggered a hail of blaster fire.

Of course, being in the center of a large circle of enemies, Venge and Maul did the obvious thing: they ducked.

Half of Forna’s men were taken out in the first two seconds, felled by ill-considered friendly fire.  Screams broke out, smoke rose, and the smell of burning flesh, leather, and rubber filled the air.  A moment later, Venge and Maul came to their feet, each rushing a different side of the flanking formation.

In the next ten seconds, it was all over.

Venge turned, letting the last limp body drop from the grasp of his phrik right hand.  “I’m disappointed, Forna,” he said, raising his voice to still be heard over the continuing, recorded music.  “I expected a better class of thug from a being of your obvious business sense.”

The Hutt shifted nervously on his gravbed, his tiny hands waving in a _stop_ gesture.  “Business sense, exactly!  Just business, Jedi!  Nothing personal!  We can still do business, yes?”

“We’re past the point of business,” Venge said, letting Forna’s terrified gaze follow the gesture as he slowly drew his mask from his robe.  He meandered toward the Hutt as he raised the mask to his face, purposefully not making eye contact.  “You _owe_ us now, Forna.”

Like a serpent, his phrik hand struck out, seizing Forna by his tail.  Summoning the Force, he hurled all four hundred kilograms of Hutt into the booths against the wall, smashing them to splinters.  Forna roared in agony as the wood and plastic drove into his blubbery body.

Then the color drained from his face and his pupils contracted to bare pinpricks in sheer terror as Venge loomed over him, mask in place, eyes burning gold and practically glowing in the dark.

**“And the debt,** ” Justicar Venge snarled, **“ _will_ be paid.”**


	5. Degrees of Foolishness

Two hours later, Venge closed the lid of the smuggling compartment over his head.  It was amazing how cooperative Forna had been, given the way their acquaintance had started.

“All set,” Venge said. “Now we just wait for the pilot droid to take us in.”

Maul nodded.  The two of them, along with Ahsoka, barely fit into the cramped space, but the important thing was that they did.  No scans would pick them up while they were hidden within.

“So what’s to stop Forna from selling us out now that we’re in here?” Ahsoka asked.

Venge grinned, turning on a glowrod so they could see in the unlighted compartment.  “The knowledge of what I would do to him if the double-cross doesn’t take.”

“You?” Maul asked.

Now Venge frowned, confused.  “Yes, me.  You, too, if you really wanted.”

Maul shook his head.  “Grievous’s mask is not just some intimidation tool.  When you put it on, I sensed your Force signature change radically.  It was as though a different person stepped into the space where you had been.”

A flash of irritation pricked at Venge.  “It brings on a more focused mental state, but I’m still _me._ ”

“You were not simply more focused,” Maul disagreed.  “You were more _open._   The power of the Force, specifically the Dark Side, flowed through you more fully.  I recognize this, Venge.  Master Yoda calls it ‘widening the channel.’  I use the Dark Side in Vaapad to achieve a similar effect.  But that comes from training, discipline.  I choose when to widen that channel.”

Venge fought down a sudden and irrational urge to strike Maul.  “Are you saying I don’t?”

“You flip a switch,” Maul said.  “I adjust a dial.”

“Does it matter if your method affords more precise control of how wide the channel becomes?” Venge asked, tired of this conversation.  “I still choose to flip the switch.”

Maul shook his head.  “You choose to flip it on, yes.  But what if the point comes when you can no longer turn it off?  If the channel opens too wide, personal identity becomes sublimated to the totality of the Force.  This is universally true, not just for the Dark Side.”

Before Venge could frame a reply, Ahsoka spoke up.  “‘Sublimated to the totality?’  What do you mean, Master?”

“The same phenomenon that allows you to block blaster bolts,” Maul explained patiently.  “You surrender some control to the Force so it can move through you, to protect you.  If you surrender _all_ control, even over your own thoughts, the Force can act fully through you – but such dissociation can be damaging or even fatal to the mind.  And the energies of the Force left unchecked can destroy the body as well.”

Venge shut his eyes, controlling his anger.  “I’m not stupid, Maul.  I recognize the risk.  But we need this power _now._   I would have been killed by Grievous without it.  I may be able to defeat Dooku with it.  In the face of a galactic war that devastates worlds and threatens the people we care for, how can I choose _not_ to use every resource at my disposal?”

Crossing his arms, Maul replied, “It is the choice every Jedi makes in the face of danger.  The choice to turn away from the Dark Side, knowing that if we gave in to its power, we might defeat the threat in front of us – only to become one even greater and more terrible.”

“Lofty words for a man who uses the Dark Side in Vaapad.  And I note that the Order has been quite happy to make use of me, despite my having ‘given in’ to the Dark.”

“The Dark is burned into me,” Maul countered, his voice steady.  “I was never given the choice to turn away.  It will always be a part of who I am.  So Master Yoda gave me the means to wield it, rather than be wielded _by_ it.  You, too, were never given a choice.  On some deep, instinctual level, you never agreed to serve the Dark Side.  That is why you left the Sith.  That is how you can feel love for the Ambassador.” 

He gestured at Venge’s robe, where the mask was hidden.  “But the choice is now before you.  You will never be untouched by the Dark Side, but you can elect to use it, to wield it.  Or you can be wielded _by_ it.”

Venge pursed his lips, staring at Maul.  He was loath to admit it, but the Zabrak’s words rang true.  The question was whether he could afford to heed them.  With sudden, startling clarity, a rare moment of foresight descended upon him, a gift of the Force.  He could see Maul’s path, a silvery thread woven through the tapestry of space-time.  The thread wound ever upward, never faltering, until its eventual end.  By balancing the Light and Dark within him and dedicating himself unswervingly to duty, Maul had made himself incorruptible.  His will was diamond-hard and sharp, with no flaws to exploit, no weaknesses to assail.

But Venge could not see his own thread.  He could not tell where his own path led.

Smiling wryly, he looked at Ahsoka.  “Well?  What do _you_ make of all this?”

The little Togruta shrugged.  “Master’s never led me down a wrong path.  I trust him.  I think you should too.”

With a sigh, Venge half-raised his hands in a gesture of surrender.  “I hear you,” he said to Maul.  “I’ll give your words due consideration.  I promise.”

Maul inclined his head, his Truthsayer senses clearly telling him that Venge was indeed being honest with the admission.  “That is all I ask,” Maul said.

A sudden bump and whine informed Venge the engines had started.  “Here we go,” he murmured.  “Last chance for anyone with second thoughts to hop out.”

Ahsoka laughed.  “Come on, Justicar.  It’s a good plan.  Don’t tell me you have a bad feeling about this.”

Venge forced a smile for her benefit, but the mask sat heavily in his robe.

* * *

The flight up into Corulag’s orbit was uneventful.  The three of them sat in tense silence, listening to every creak and groan of the ship, but no droid feet rang out on the deck above their heads.  No laser fire shook the ship or tested its shields.  When they felt the freighter settle into place in the hangar of the droid control ship some twenty minutes later, they had every indication that the plan was proceeding without a hitch.

Venge carefully popped the top off the smuggling compartment, taking a quick look around as he did so.  The ship was completely empty, save for the fuel he knew had been loaded in its cargo bay and the droid pilot in the cockpit.

“We should consider disabling the ship’s tractor beam as well as the fighters,” Maul said as they climbed out of the compartment.  “In case we need to make a quick exit.”

“We’ll find the main computer interface first,” Venge replied, extending a hand to Ahsoka to help her out.  She pointedly refused it and Force leapt up to the deck instead.  “After our plan is well underway, then I’ll go and find the tractor control.”

“By yourself?” Ahsoka asked.  “Master always says it’s foolish to wander alone in enemy territory.”

“But there are only three of us, and it’s more foolish to leave you unguarded while you’re elbow-deep in an enemy computer’s guts,” Venge pointed out.

Maul seconded that.  “Venge is correct.  Tactically, the best move is for the group of two to remain in one place, and have a solo infiltrator.  It will lower the chances of detection.”  He began moving toward the ship’s engine compartment.  Their plan called for them to access the secondary plasma exhaust port, and exit the ship that way.  It would deposit them beneath the freighter’s underbelly, out of sight of any droids or cams.  From there, they could make their way into more cover.

As Maul popped the maintenance hatch on the exhaust port, Venge wrinkled his nose at the nostril-searing stench of plasma exhaust.  “Wonderful.  My robes are going to smell for weeks.  Padmé won’t want to touch me.”

“At least it is not a trash compactor,” Maul observed.

“That sounds like a story.”

“I would prefer not to tell it.”

Ahsoka giggled.  “We were on this enemy cruiser, _Discord,_ and there were droidekas on either side of the detention hallway.  So, Master –”

“Padawan,” Maul said, his voice still patient.

“Oh.  Right.  Sorry, Master.”  Ahsoka scooted herself into the exhaust port and proceeded ahead of them.

“There was a dianoga in the trash compactor, wasn’t there?” Venge asked.

Maul’s face pinched.  “I do not like tentacles.”

“Asked and answered.”  Venge proceeded into the exhaust port, breathing through his mouth.  The port had never been designed with this sort of use in mind, so it was an extremely tight fit for him.  With some judicious wriggling and use of the Force, however, he landed silently on the deck of the droid control ship only a few moments later.

A quick look around revealed that the freighter had landed in a quaternary hangar, with no starfighters present and only some cargo droids to unload the fuel.  A Force pulse still revealed the presence of multiple cams to him, their fields of vision burning like sodium-yellow spotlights in his mind’s eye.

Ahsoka peered out from beneath the lip of the freighter at one of them.  “Cola-manufactured eyecams,” she whispered.  “They’ve got visual and infrared, but not UV.  And the ‘visual’ is the visible spectrum for Colicoids.”

“Black and white?” Venge asked, moving aside so Maul could land on the deck next to them.

“A pretty narrow band of it, too,” she replied.  “If we shroud our body heat, the cams should have serious trouble picking us up unless we stand in front of them and wave our arms.”

“Serves them right for going with the cheapest option.”  Venge half-closed his eyes, layering the Force around himself like a paper-thin blanket, covering his skin, his hair, his eyes.  He visualized his body heat pressing against the blanket and failing to escape, dissipating harmlessly into the Force.  Beside him, he felt Ahsoka and Maul doing the same.

Ahsoka pulled an IR scanner from her belt and flashed it at each of them in turn.  “We’re all good,” she said.  “We look like nice, blue blobs.”

“Then let’s go,” Venge ordered.  “We need to find a terminal to download a map of the ship.  One that’s out of view of any cams, or can be made that way.”

They darted across the floor of the hangar, moving between fuel pods, crates, and other freighters.  Venge led the way, avoiding the field of view of the cams as best he could and dashing quickly along the periphery of those he could not avoid.  They reached the hangar exit in seconds.

The door refused to open.  Venge scowled at it.  “Does it need an ID scan?” he asked.

“Probably,” Ahsoka said, getting to work on its control panel.  “A lot of the freighters the CIS have press-ganged into fuel delivery probably have sentient crews instead of droids.  I’d want to lock the hangar if I had potential enemies running around in it.”  After only a few moments, however, she made a small, triumphant noise as the panel sparked and the door slid open.  “Let’s go!”

The corridors of the huge ship had cams placed far less frequently than the hangar, which made a certain amount of sense.  They made good time, Venge scanning ahead for cams and the electric signatures of droids.

“The ship seems near deserted,” Maul observed.

“Most of its forces should be occupying Corulag,” Venge told him.  “The planet has thousands of cities and billions of inhabitants, after all.  You don’t lock that down with a few droids and a tank or two.”

“Point.”  Maul’s head snapped around toward a corridor running perpendicular to their own, his eyes narrowing.  “I think I see a terminal.  At the far end of this junction.”

Venge looked, too.  “Yes, but it’s in full view of a cam.”

Ahsoka took a breath behind him.  A heartbeat later, the spotlight of the cam’s field of view faded from Venge’s mind.

“You fused the circuits?” Venge guessed.

“It should look like a power surge,” Ahsoka replied, already jogging toward the terminal.  “But they’re going to send a maintenance droid, and if this happens too many times it’ll raise flags.”

“Makes sense.”  Venge took up guard position on one side of her, while Maul took the other.  He kept scanning for incoming energy signatures, keeping his metaphorical eyes peeled.  “How’s the system security?”

“Minimal,” Ahsoka laughed as she keyed through directory after directory.  “I’m talking about the command crew only using one password, and that password being ‘password.’”

“ _Really_?”

“Well, it’s a Neimoidian command crew, so.  It’s actually ‘acquisition’ in Pak Pak.  That’s their ‘password.’”  She made another triumphant noise.  “Got it!  Downloading the ship schematics to my ’pad now.”

“Good work, Padawan,” Maul told her.  “Where is the computer core?”

Ahsoka flipped through a series of wireframe images so rapidly that Venge couldn’t follow them – which was to be expected, since Togruta had unusually impressive visual processing speed.  “At the top of the central sphere, about half a kilometer ‘down’ from the subspace antenna array.  We’ll need to travel along the ring to the access pylon for the ring, then head through the maintenance system to avoid the heightened security there.”  She grimaced at Maul and Venge.  “It’s going to be a tight fit.  On the plus side, tractor control is only two decks away, once we’re there.”

“Then let’s go,” Venge said.  “And may fortune favor the foolish.”

Maul looked at him.  “I believe the expression is, ‘may fortune favor the _intrepid._ ’”

“No,” Venge laughed.  “In this case, _foolish_ is definitely more accurate.”

They moved.


	6. Time Bleeds Away

Queen Mother Dormé, supreme ruler of the Hapes Consortium, sat erect in her throne on the bridge of her personal Hapan Battle Dragon, the _Terminus._   The swirling energies of hyperspace bathed the dimly-lit bridge in bluish-white light through the curved viewscreen.

She had many things she could be doing which would have been more productive than sitting here, staring at hyperspace eddies.  As Queen Mother, she considered it her personal responsibility to know by heart all sixty-three habitable planets in her domain, as well as their capitols, primary exports, economic composition, and so forth.  She still had a great deal of study to do, not to mention decrees to write, judicial petitions to review…

But Dormé had no focus left.  They were barely three hours from Corulag, where they had either a fierce battle or a one-sided slaughter awaiting them, depending upon the success of Venge’s mission.  Dormé had already slept as much as she’d been able, eaten, bathed.  There was nothing left to pass the time but focus-intensive work, datapad games – which she felt were grossly inappropriate for such a grave situation – or staring out the window.

So she stared.  And she offered a silent plea to the Force to keep her friends safe.

* * *

As soon as his shuttle dropped out of hyperspace, Darth Tyranus felt it.

_Jedi._

“Perform a full scan of the fleet,” he said to his pilot droid.  “Analyze every ship’s organic crew and compare their number against the listed complement.  Report discrepancies.”

It took the droid several minutes to carry out the command – time which Dooku spent sweeping the ships with the Force, looking for the source of the light-side emanations he felt.  But the location of the enemy presences was shrouded from him.

As had been the case throughout history, however, it was technology which was their undoing.

“Droid control carrier _Usury_ reads three extraneous life-forms which have not been confirmed as fuel shipment crew,” the droid reported.

Dooku’s eyes flashed.  “Location?”

“Central command sphere, upper decks.  Their precise position is impossible to determine.  The hypermatter reactor is baffling their signal.”

“Intruder alert on the _Usury_ ,” Dooku said, opening a fleetwide comm channel.  “Central sphere, upper decks.  Initiate full countermeasure suite.  Maximum caution; the intruders are Jedi.”

The Neimoidian toady in charge of the _Usury_ immediately began to protest, saying the situation was impossible, that security was too good.  Dooku stretched his will across the thousands of kilometers still separating them, and with one furious thought he broke the captain’s neck.  The ingrate died mid-bluster.

From the sudden flurry of shouted orders and frenzied activity a moment later, Dooku could tell his point was made.  Now was the time for action; anyone who wasted precious seconds trying to cover their own rear was expendable.

“Get me on board that ship,” he commanded the droid.  “ _Now._ ”

* * *

They had been in the dark, cramped computer core for the better part of a day.

Venge and Maul had stood guard while Ahsoka tirelessly worked at the interface terminal.  According to her, the droid starfighters used a proprietary coding language unlike anything she had ever seen before.

So she had spent the first twelve hours learning it.

Now Venge watched as she flipped through control-architecture schematics at an incredible rate, pulling up a command line every few seconds to enter a stream of arcane symbols in an alphabet Venge didn’t recognize.  She had been doing this nonstop for hours, and time was running out.  The Hapans were less than an hour away.

Venge knew that Ahsoka knew it.  Jedi had naturally perfect time-senses.  Still, he felt compelled to ask, “How’s it coming?”

“The starfighters are incredibly well-protected against exactly this kind of attack,” Ahsoka replied.  “Which makes sense.  They’re basically invulnerable to remote slicing.  But I have core access and most of a day, so.”

“So?” Venge prompted.

“So I’m writing an ‘update’ now,” Ahsoka said.  “It needs to look enough like an actual update to pass the distribution network’s independent verification subroutines.  That’s why it’s taking so long.”

“Will it be ready in the next forty-nine minutes?”

Ahsoka nodded, her eyes never leaving the screen.  “My ETA is forty- _two_ minutes, with three more for distribution.”

“Excellent,” Maul told her.  “We will let you work.”  He turned to Venge, the confines of the computer core forcing him to keep his head ducked.  “Should you go after tractor control now?”

“At half an hour until go time I will,” Venge replied.  “The longer everything is in perfect working order, the less likely it is the enemy will –”

And right in the middle of his sentence, the Force hit him with a realization which slapped him like an icy wave.

_Dooku._

He could tell Maul felt it too.  “He’s coming,” Venge said.  “If he doesn’t know we’re on this ship now, he will soon.”

Ahsoka looked up, wide-eyed.  “What’s –”

“Focus, Padawan,” Maul told her.  “We will handle it.”  He looked at Venge.  “We can take him together.”

“You can’t leave Ahsoka alone in here,” Venge said.  “It’s the whole reason I was going to go to tractor control alone.”

“You might not be able to defeat him alone,” Maul countered, his gaze resting pointedly on the fold in Venge’s robe which concealed the mask.  “Even with… _help._ ”

“It’s still the best option,” Venge argued.  “You shroud yourself and Ahsoka.  I’ll draw him off.  Buy her time to finish the ‘update.’”

In the distance, alarms began to blare.  Venge recognized the pattern as an intruder alert.

Maul’s stare bored into Venge.  “You are risking much.  More than simply your life.  Vengeance will not restore your arm.”

Now Venge bared his teeth in a snarl, his lightsaber leaping to his flesh-and-blood hand.  “No, it won’t,” he said.  “But it will still feel very, _very_ good.”

* * *

The voice was computer-modified to be genderless, uninflected, and altogether unidentifiable.  All this was to guard against the possibility of interception, however.  Darth Plagueis knew the identity of the being on the other end of the transmission.

“The fleet decants in nineteen minutes,” it said.  “If I am to move –”

“No,” Plagueis said, his mechanized voice echoed in the darkness of the _Invisible Hand_ ’s observation deck.  “We must preserve you for another time.”

“My lord, if their plan succeeds, the Hapan fleet may actually _win_ this battle!”

Plagueis’s lips quirked into a smile beneath his transpirator.

“They are meant to.”

* * *

Venge did not make for tractor control.  Their cover was blown, so there was no more need for subtlety.

He doused the droidekas outside the bridge in Sith lightning, reducing them to twitching piles of scrap.  A moment later he rammed his lightsaber into the security door up to its hilt, its heat quickly melting through the lock.

He pried open the doors with the Force and fell upon the bridge crew.

The comm officer he saved for last, giving the Neimoidian plenty of time to screech a cry for aid over the screams of his fellows.  Interestingly, he found he’d been spared a bit of effort – the captain was already dead of a viciously broken neck.  _Dooku._

His bloody work done, Venge took a moment to destroy the tractor control panel.  There were other ways to direct the beams, of course, but without a living bridge crew to give the orders, the control ship was essentially fangless.

He took a seat in the former captain’s command chair, and settled in to wait.

* * *

The timer above the viewscreen read ten minutes.  Dormé steeled herself.  Very shortly, she would be giving orders that might send women and men to their deaths.  The fine details of the battle would be handled by Commander Tsarya – along as much so Dormé could keep an eye on her as for her tactical expertise – but it would be Dormé’s will which drove the fleet.

At her side, standing at attention, Garan briefly rested a hand on her shoulder.  Technically it was a breach of protocol, but he knew she didn’t care.  “You will be fine,” he said.

Dormé smiled wanly at him.  “I’m not concerned for my safety.  I’m concerned for the lives of the people under my command.  I’ve never been responsible for a fleet before.”

Garan returned the smile.  “Your faith in the Jedi will be rewarded, I’m sure,” he said.  “They have not failed us yet.”

“True.”  Dormé brought up a fleetwide comm channel with the touch of a button on her throne.  “All ships, prepare for realspace reversion.  Fight well and guard one another’s backs.

“And may the Force be with us.”

* * *

Maul felt them coming.

“Keep working, Padawan,” he said, moving to the computer core’s one access door.  “I will not let them through.”

“I know, Master.”  Ahsoka spared him one look, smiling cheekily.  “I’ll be done in five minutes.  Maybe leave one of them for me?”

He snorted and did not bother offering an answer to that.

The door hissed open at his command.  There were three of them: white-robed, silver-armored cyborgs, all of them carrying Sith sabers.  Their eyes were the color of poison.  Maul had read Siri’s report – he knew that beneath their masked helmets, they all bore the face of his closest brother in arms.

“Were you made when Plagueis was attempting to clone Anakin Skywalker?” he asked, igniting his own double-bladed weapon.

None of them said anything.  They simply raised their crimson sabers into various en-garde positions.  Maul noted that they all adopted different stances; he would have to watch carefully to see if they used discrete styles.  Any information he could glean about the flash-learning package given to these twisted creatures would be useful to his fellow Jedi.

Maul didn’t move.  He simply stood ready in front of the door, ready to buy Ahsoka her five minutes.

No matter the cost.

* * *

Dooku opened the door to the bridge of the _Usury_ with a casual motion of his fingers.  The damaged door slid aside, revealing scattered bodies and widespread damage to the instruments.  As he stepped inside, the command chair – which had been faced away from the door – swiveled slowly around to reveal Justicar Venge.

“I’ve always wanted to be able to do a dramatic chair turn,” he said.  “It appears I’ll be crossing _two_ things off my list today.”

Raising an eyebrow, Dooku drew his saber and ignited it, blade pointed at the ground, assuming the classic Makashi ready stance.  “What would the second thing be?”

“Killing you,” Venge replied.  “Slowly.  And painfully.”

Dooku smirked.  “You will try, certainly.  You should know before you die, however, that your attempts to protect your allies by drawing me off are futile.  I have dispatched three of my Myrmidons to the computer core, to foil whatever sabotage you have been attempting.”

“Myrmidons are what you call the Grievous knockoffs made from discarded clones of Anakin?” Venge asked.  “So they’re _double_ failures, and you only sent _three_ of them to deal with _Maul?_   I may be doing you a favor by ending your life, Dooku.  I doubt Plagueis is going to be pleased with you by the end of the day.”

Dooku narrowed his eyes.  “Tell me something, Venge.  Do you enjoy being Padmé Amidala’s pet?  How long is your leash, these days?”

Venge brought up his prosthetic hand, and Dooku suddenly realized there was something gripped in it: a familiar, silver mask.

“Let me show you,” Venge replied.

Dooku felt the Dark Side practically explode, the burst of energy so intense he almost staggered.  Venge leapt straight out of the chair into a spiraling downward attack, silver blade igniting, his bestial howl ringing through the air.

The battle was joined.


	7. Best Served Cold

Venge could see it all.

Every minute detail of Dooku’s stance – the shift of the man’s weight, the tension in some muscles and the looseness in others.  Every drop of Neimoidian blood and droid lubricant spattering the walls or ceiling or most importantly floor – _there,_ his footing would be the slightest bit slippery, and _there_ his heel might stick.  Every feature of the bridge, forming the terrain of their battle – there a console, and on the other side a stair.  He held it all within his mind with perfect laser focus, every detail correct and absolute.

He opened the fight with a falling tornado strike from his Ataru repertoire.  When Dooku deflected the attack with a combination of a carefully angled lightsaber block and his trademark footwork, Venge landed in a low crouch, switching to Makashi to make lightning cuts at Dooku’s knees and ankles.  He scuttled forward as he did, pressing the Sith Lord back, disrupting his footing.

If Dooku had been so easily defeated, however, Venge would not have needed the mask.  He batted Venge’s slashes away from his legs, leapt into a lateral somersault to buy distance, and unleashed a crackling barrage of Force lightning.

Venge raised his flesh-and-blood hand.  How he’d waited for this moment!  All those nights lying awake after another nightmare, picturing it.  Turning it over in his mind, lovingly imagining every possible detail, every potential nuance.

The moment when Dooku realized he was overmatched.

Venge loosed his own storm of Sith lightning.  It collided with Dooku’s, the bolts collapsing into one another until they were joined by a single coruscating strand of searingly bright energy.  Meeting Dooku’s eyes, Venge _pushed._

There was an explosive crack and a flash of light.  Dooku staggered back, hand burnt, the rich shimmersilk of his sleeve set aflame.  He put it out almost immediately with the Force, but Venge could sense the gibber of fear flash through the older man.

_You are going to die here tonight._

“This is not like you, Venge,” Dooku said.  “No quips, no taunts?  You have surrendered much for this power.”

Venge said nothing.  He could feel the verbal spell Dooku was attempting to weave.  The Count was as accomplished a user of Dun Möch as had ever been produced by Sith training.

But it would not work here.

“You are far more suited to be a warrior of the Sith than an ally of the Jedi,” Dooku pressed.  “Think about what you are doing!”

Venge spoke.  **“I am killing you.”**

He shattered Dooku’s Dun Möch with a burst of raw Dark power before launching himself across the bridge in a berserker leap.  Dooku saw it coming, but even his prodigious speed was insufficient to fully protect him.  He angled Venge’s saber off to the side, but took a flying kick to the chest.  He staggered back, slamming hard into the slagged remains of the tractor control panel.

As Venge landed, he made sure his back was to Dooku – dangerous, but necessary to conceal the moment he passed his saber from his phrik right hand to his left.  As he’d known the Sith would, Dooku slid instantly into the opening, crimson blade angling for Venge’s neck.

Venge whirled into the strike, bringing up his right hand to swat the shaft of energy away.  He thrust with his saber into Dooku’s vulnerable flank.  Once more the Count’s footwork saved him from death, but it was not enough to let him escape unscathed.  Venge’s silver blade slashed a thin burn across Dooku’s side through his robe.  It was far from a serious wound, but it was proof: Venge had the upper hand in physical combat now, as well as in mundane uses of the Force.

Dooku slid away, lightsaber whirling to a defensive angle across his body.  He began to murmur, the Force twisting in unnatural patterns around him.  Venge mentally prepared himself; outmatched in other ways, Dooku was turning to the esoteric arts.

This, too, was as Venge had expected.

He hammered Dooku’s defenses, making the older man spend precious concentration and stamina to maintain his casting.  Venge knew the mental strain of Sith Sorcery meant that Dooku would not be able to conjure and launch an offensive simultaneously, so he took full advantage of the opportunity.  He actually shifted to a two-handed grip on his lightsaber, planted his feet, and unleashed the powerful attacks of Djem So.  It was not his preferred style, but the point was to tax his opponent as heavily as possible.

With a quick twist of his wrist, Dooku disengaged their blades.  He took three steps away, spinning around as he did.

Space distorted and broke open as Dooku completed his incantation.  The tentacle of pure Dark Side energy surged forth, eager to consume even more of Venge’s flesh.  It was an attack that could not be halted or deflected, only avoided.

Ordinarily.

But Venge had well remembered the sight of the first tentacle _squeezing_ through the hangar door.  He remembered the way it had slithered across the deckplates.  It had mass and substance; it was a physical object.  One lethal to flesh and impervious to the touch of the Force, lightsabers, or ray-shields, but still physical.

It leapt at him, and Venge took his carefully-reasoned gamble: he snatched it out of the air with his phrik hand.

For one frozen moment he waited for the limb to boil away, but it did not.  The metal fingers held the abomination fast.

Venge turned and hurled it at one of the bridge’s windows.  He destroyed the transparisteel with an explosive Force blast, and watched with grim satisfaction as the tentacle went flying out into the void of space.  A moment later, a reinforced blastshield slammed into place, sealing off the breach and preventing the loathsome thing from reentering the ship – assuming it was even capable of propelling itself through vacuum against the momentum it had possessed when it first went extravehicular.

Less than a second later, Dooku was on him again, but there was a new desperation in the Count’s assault.  His form was a hair less precise, his footwork the tiniest bit sloppier.  The Dark Side glowed hot and bright in his eyes, an effect Venge had never seen before – the Sith Lord was clearly drawing on all his resources now, pouring all his energy into his offensive.

Venge met it and held his ground.  He refused to give a single inch.  He channeled his fury.  This was the man who had called him a mediocrity.  This was the man who had maimed him.  This was the man who had haunted his nightmares and driven him to these extremes.  And as he fought Dooku, the Sith Lord’s face swam before Venge’s eyes, his features becoming those of Sidious.  Sidious had made this creature.  Sidious would pay, too.  He would make them pay.

**“I,”** Venge snarled, **“will make you pay, Tyranus.”**

“You will do nothing but die, Venge,” Dooku rasped.  His breath was coming in harsh rattles; the battle was eating into his stamina.  But even as he struggled for breath, the Sith Lord began to murmur another incantation.

Venge switched instantly to Djem So, pressing his attack, feeling Dooku’s defense weaken beneath the vicious hammerblows of the Perseverance Form.  This incantation was different from the one that had produced the tentacle – those words had been guttural, harsh, while these words hissed sibilantly from his mouth.  Different Sith tongues, Venge thought.  Different schools of sorcery.  What could Dooku be preparing to unleash?

He fought even harder.  He could tell, could _feel,_ that Dooku was inches away from exhaustion.  If he could make him fumble the incantation, or just lop off a limb or two, the fight would be decided then and there.

But Dooku endured, the words susurrating from his lips, his lightsaber a crimson blur as he valiantly held off Venge’s relentless onslaught.

**“You are old,”** Venge said, taking a cue from Dooku’s repertoire.  **“You are tired.  You are failing.  You cannot think, cannot speak, cannot move, cannot breathe.  The Dark closes on you. _I_ close on you.”**

As suddenly as he had begun it, Dooku finished the incantation.  There was no noticeable effect, however.  For a moment, Venge thought the spell had failed.

“You,” Dooku said, “are not the Dark, _boy_.”

He raised his burnt hand, fingers clenched into a fist, his arm pointed directly at Venge’s head.  Then he opened his fingers, and from within them, from the center of his palm, exploded a stream of white-hot flame.

The blast caught Venge full in the face.  His mask, durable as it was, did not crack or melt.  It superheated almost instantly, the silver metal glowing an ominous red.  Venge felt it sear into his flesh, sear _away_ his flesh.  He opened his mouth to scream.

Then the flame rushed through the holes in the mask and carved into his eyes.

Everything went white, then dark.  Forever.

* * *

Dooku wheezed as he fought to draw breath through the exhaustion and the weight of age.  The smell of charred flesh did not help.

Venge lay supine on the deck, arms and legs splayed out.  Thin, greasy wisps of black smoke rose from his mask, which had been charred cast-iron black by the Sith flame.  Grey smoke rose from the holes where his eyes had been.

Only the fact that Venge had been expecting another Force assault had saved Dooku.  That was the virtue of the Sith flame: the spell took the user’s own wellspring of power and ate away at it, forever weakening the caster, in exchange for a lethal spray of corrosive flame.  It was not something that could be gainsaid by the Force once unleashed.

Even assuming the target retained the presence of mind to make the attempt.

Drawing a deep, painful breath, Dooku raised his saber.  He was taking no chances.  He would deliver the coup de grace now, while Venge was unconscious.  Lord Plagueis could punish him for failing to bring Venge’s body back intact.  That was preferable to underestimating the former Sith again.

But even as Dooku raised his blade to cleave Venge’s head from his body, he saw something.  The shock of it drove what little air remained in his lungs clear out of his body.  It was impossible, but there it was.

Two points of white light glowed from within the mask.

Dooku didn’t hesitate another moment.  He made the killing cut.

It never landed.  Venge’s prosthetic arm snapped up, caught the crimson blade in phrik fingers.  He rose to his feet without any apparent effort, buoyed by the Force.

“How?” Dooku gasped.  “How are you – _how?_ ”

The voice from beneath the mask was no longer remotely human.  It was a dry whisper, the sound of dead leaves scraping against the barren ground.

_“I am Justicar Venge.”_

The saber was torn from Dooku’s grasp.  Metal fingers lanced up into a grip around his throat, talons lacerating his flesh.  He felt himself lifted by his neck, and there was a sudden, impossibly loud _crack_ as the fingers squeezed.  Sensation fled from his limbs.

He was hurled to the deck, his head slamming against the metal hard enough to make him see stars.  Dooku managed to look up, just in time to see the black-masked figure, the twin lights staring at him from the depths of the Dark Side itself, raise its lightsaber.

Its _deactivated_ lightsaber.

The first blow, as metal contacted flesh, was more painful than the impact with the floor.  But it was only the first blow.  There were many more.  Dooku lost count of how many.

His vision was blurred, and covered in red, by the time the blows ceased.  But at last, after what must have been hours of pain, the figure shifted its grip.  It held the lightsaber hilt like a dagger, the long claw on its end gleaming in the light from the overhead emitters.

Dooku felt the point of the claw enter his temple as his executioner stabbed down.

It was the last thing he ever felt.


	8. The Trap is Sprung

Maul and Ahsoka cut down the last Myrmidon together, trisecting it with a pair of perfectly coordinated slashes.

“Two minutes until the Hapans are supposed to be here,” Ahsoka said.  “Want to get off the ship they’re going to be blowing up?”

“A good idea, Padawan.  The starfighters are disabled?”

“Yes, Master!”

“Then we are indeed ready to leave.”  Maul retrieved his commlink from his belt.  “Venge, we are extracting.  Come in.”

There was no reply.

Maul sought for Venge in the Force, but could detect nothing.  He expanded his senses, looking for any clue of where the other man had gone.  Almost immediately, a pulse of Dark power made him wince.

There was a disturbance in the Force, emanating from the bridge.  Maul could tell the fabric of the Force itself had been shredded.  He unconsciously furrowed his brow in concentration as he examined the nature of the tear.

He had never experienced it firsthand, but given what Venge had told him of Dooku, Maul suspected from the unfamiliar texture of the rend that it had been made by sorcery.  Then it had been widened by pain, horrible pain, and rage-fueled murder.

Something terrible had happened.

“Master?” Ahsoka asked.  “It feels… _wrong._ ”

Maul realized she had been seeking too, and had located the same rend he had.  “We have to go, Padawan,” he said, beginning to run toward the core egress doors.  “Quickly.”

He could sense her reluctance, but she kept up with him.  “What about Venge?”

“I can no longer sense him,” Maul said.  “That means there are three possibilities.  One, he is dead, and took Dooku with him.  There is nothing to be done, and we have little time before the ship comes under fire.  Two, he is dead and Dooku is not.  The situation would be even more pressing, as we would have to evade a Sith Lord in order to escape.”

“And if he’s still alive?” Ahsoka demanded.

“Then I trust him to make good his own escape.”

After a moment’s consideration as they sprinted down the long grey corridors, Ahsoka spoke again.  “And if they’re both still alive?”

Maul snorted.  “Knowing them,” he said, “I do not judge that possibility worth consideration.”

* * *

The Hapan fleet dropped out of hyperspace.  Dormé, her orders already given, merely watched in contemplative silence as the Battle Dragons and Nova cruisers rushed toward the enemy fleet.  Their laser and ion cannon spewed the traditional wall of Hapan fire – enormous volleys of bolts, but little guidance beyond primitive lead-time probability cones from the Hapans’ unsophisticated targeting computers.

However, five minutes into the battle, the CIS had yet to deploy any starfighters.  Without the threat of bombers, the Nova battle cruisers strafed through the enemy fleet with impunity, unloading massive broadsides.  The Battle Dragons hammered the biggest capital ships with long-range saturation fire, their targets so large they were impossible to miss.

A carrier fleet unable to deploy starfighters, the CIS ships began to turn and run.  Their sublight drives burned hot and bright as they clawed for sufficient distance from Corulag’s gravity well to make the jump to lightspeed.

The commlink in the arm of Dormé’s throne crackled.  “The fight goes well, Queen Mother,” Commander Tsarya reported.  “The enemy is in full retreat.”

“Excellent,” Dormé said.  “Make ready to –”

And that was when the screen lit up with a nova-bright flash.

As the terrible radiance faded, Dormé could see its source: the tail end of a Lucrehulk battleship, the engines offline and awash in flame.  They must have taken a bad hit astern and lost all engine power.

It had been trying to retreat, but the ship was in low orbit.  Too low.

“That ship!” Dormé snapped, pointing at the crippled vessel.  “It’s falling toward the planet!”

Her sensor officer immediately scanned the craft, then turned to look at her.  The officer’s face, normally ruddy, was white as a sheet.  “Queen Mother, the ship will impact the city of Ainsport.  Population… one and a half million.”

“Order the fleet to close!” Dormé shouted, fear gripping her chest like iron bands.  “Get tractor beams on it!”

“Queen Mother, that ship out-masses five Battle Dragons, to say nothing of the Novas,” the officer said, her voice hoarse.  “The only ships in range are three Novas.  They could plant themselves underneath it and fire full sublights and they wouldn’t even slow it down.”

Even as they spoke, Dormé could see the telltale orange glow of atmospheric friction on bare hull plates.

“There’s nothing we can do?” she asked, feeling hollow.

“Nothing,” the sensor officer replied.  “Communications to the surface are still jammed and the planetary shield is down.”  She winced.  “We have just killed those people.”

All Dormé could do was watch as the massive ship plummeted to a horrific crash-landing, the impact kicking up so much dirt, smoke, and debris that it was clearly visible from orbit.  Even as the CIS fled, the body count grew.

“Find out who fired the fatal shot,” Dormé said when she finally trusted herself to speak again.  “Find me the gunner, or weapons master, who thought it prudent to shoot out the engines of a ship that size in such a low orbit.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” her bridge crew chorused.

Dormé bit down on the inside of her cheek so hard it bled.

This, she knew, was her fault.

* * *

Less than two hours after the disastrous crash of the Lucrehulk battleship, Padmé reported to the war room in Tipoca City for a conference.  As she arrived, she saw that Yoda, Anakin, and Thrawn were in attendance, though the latter two were present as holograms.  She knew they had both been conducting punitive campaigns against the Separatists, taking advantage of the opening created by the invasion of Corulag.

Even as Padmé moved to the planning table, three more holographic figures joined them, flickering into existence to Yoda’s left: Dormé, Maul, and Ahsoka.  Though the situation was grave, Padmé flashed Dormé a quick smile.  It was good to see her again.

Venge, however, did not join the conference.  She wondered where he was.

“Now that we are all here,” Thrawn said, “we can begin.  I will open this conference by saying that the Battle of Corulag should be considered an unequivocal loss for the Order, and that it is my fault.”  He nodded at Yoda.  “If you wish to accept my resignation, Master Yoda –”

“Necessary that will not be,” Yoda cut him off.  “With the briefing, please proceed, Lord Admiral.”

Thrawn’s lip twisted.  “The CIS’s entire goal with the invasion of Corulag was political, not military,” he said.  “My error was not considering that possibility.  Confidence in the Order has been shaken.  We fulfilled our promise to aid Corulag, but the massive casualties caused by the crash of the CIS warship have made us look incompetent and careless.”

“But that was an unfortunate accident,” Padmé argued, “one that was only possible through a series of unlikely but interlinked coincidences.  I grieve for the loss of so many lives, but such things happen in war, don’t they?”

There was a moment of grim silence before Anakin spoke up to answer her question.  “Padmé… this was no accident.”

She stared at him.  “What?”

“My people have gone over every moment of the battle on our recorders,” Dormé said grimly.  “At no point did any of my ships fire at that vessel.  It seems clear that they purposefully detonated their own drives to make us look culpable.”

“But with the relatively primitive state of Hapan targeting software,” Thrawn added, “it is impossible to prove definitively that we are _not_ at fault.  It is indeed clear that Corulag was chosen specifically for its location relative to Hapes, in order to lure us into dispatching Hapan forces so we could be made to appear responsible for this precise catastrophe.”

“We have worlds already pulling out of supply-and-protection agreements with us,” Anakin said.  “Others are calling for us to make reparations.  The political fallout is going to go on for months, maybe even years.”

“I already have a volunteer from my gunner corps,” Dormé interjected.  “She will be held accountable for firing the crippling shot.  Hapan law is very clear about what happens to members of the military found guilty of killing noncombatants, accidentally or otherwise.”

Padmé felt her stomach twist itself into knots.  “You can’t be serious, Dormé.”

“Her family will be quietly moved to Hapes and will be taken care of by the state, in perpetuity.”  Dormé’s gaze was flat, unfeeling.  “She suggested the arrangement herself.”

“Master Yoda, you can’t possibly approve!” Padmé tried.

“Approve, I do not,” Yoda replied, his voice firm.  “But recognize the necessity of this action, I do.”

“This is murder!  And submission to the manufactured propaganda of a tyrant!”

“This is war,” Thrawn bit out.  “We are trading pieces, Ambassador.”

Padmé looked at Anakin.  He met her gaze for a moment, then lowered his eyes, saying nothing.  She turned to Maul and Ahsoka, who maintained their own silence.

Then the tension was broken by a clone comm officer.  “Sorry to interrupt,” he said, speaking up from where he was stationed in a corner of the war room.  “But there’s a Sep transmission on all HoloNet frequencies that I think you should see.”

“Please,” Yoda replied.

The empty air above the planning table manifested a tree-dimensional image of Hego Damask.  The Muun, from what could be seen of his face above the transpirator, wore a sorrowful expression.  Padmé felt almost physically sick with loathing at the sight of him.

“– wish to extend our sympathies and apologies to the people of Ainsport and Corulag,” he was saying.  “Were it not for the Hapan blockade, we would be endeavoring to render assistance.”

“Lying bastard,” Anakin growled.

“I must also, with great sorrow, report the loss of one of the galaxy’s brightest stars: Count Dooku of Serenno.  He was killed only hours ago in a shockingly brutal assassination by the Jedi operative known as Justicar Venge.”

The knots in Padmé’s stomach intensified.  _Shockingly brutal?  Assassination?_

“We have obtained surveillance footage from the bridge where the assassination took place,” Damask continued.  “I feel it is my duty as a citizen of the galaxy to share this with all of you, so you might better grasp the lengths the Order is willing to go in pursuit of its ends.  But I must also warn you: the images are truly horrific.”

His face disappeared, replaced with a two-dimensional picture in grainy black and white of a Neimoidian command bridge.  Padmé could not keep herself from gasping when she saw Venge, wearing some kind of dark metal mask, lifting Dooku by his neck clear off his feet.

Then he hurled Dooku to the deckplates, the impact visibly bone-jarring.  He brandished his lightsaber, but he did not ignite it.

Padmé watched in abject horror as Venge spent the next two minutes beating Dooku’s head in with the blunt metal of the hilt.  Then he switched his grip, orienting the long phrik claw on the end of the weapon downward, and stabbed Dooku through the temple.

He pulled out the claw and stabbed him again, this time through his right eye.  And again through his left.  And he continued stabbing at his face, shredding the flesh, until there was nothing recognizable as human left, just flayed sinew and bare, blood-flecked bone.

The image abruptly vanished, Damask reappearing.  “We may be at war,” he said, “but this treatment of a venerable political figure goes beyond the pale.  Speaking on behalf of the Confederacy of Independent Systems, I formally condemn the Jedi Order’s sanctioning of Justicar Venge’s actions, and hope that the civilized beings of the galaxy will join me in doing so.  How can the Jedi claim to protect the common folk and simultaneously make use of men capable of such butchery?  I submit to you that they cannot do both.”

Yoda reached out and shut down the holodisplay.

“Prepare a statement, we must,” he said softly.  “Announce, we will, that to the families of those lost in the Ainsport disaster, reparations will we make.  New homes, we will provide.  Dormé’s volunteer, guilty of bringing down the battleship, she will be found.”

He looked Padmé right in the eye.

“Formally condemn the actions of Venge, we will.  A warrant for his arrest, we will issue.”

“Where is he?” Padmé asked, swallowing her knee-jerk objections to the very idea.  “Why isn’t he at this conference?”

“He has gone missing,” Maul replied, speaking for the first time.  “The Force tells me he made it off the droid control ship before the Hapan fleet crippled and destroyed it.  But he has not reported to any Hapan vessels, approached any of our units on Corulag, or sent any communications to us.” 

He hesitated, just for a moment, which only deepened Padmé’s dread.  “That mask he was wearing,” the Zabrak continued, “is a talisman he was using to induce a widened-channel Force state.  But when I saw him use it last, it was bright silver.  In the surveillance footage it has been burned black.”

“Jedi Maul,” Yoda said gravely.  “Represent a threat to the Order, does Justicar Venge?”

Maul visibly clenched his jaw.  “Something happened to him during his fight with Dooku, Master Yoda.  The man I know would not have done what we just saw.  I believe he is not in his right mind, and therefore _could_ represent a threat.”

“Then we need to find him and help him, not _arrest_ him!” Padmé snapped.  “If we publically condemn him –”

“Condemn his actions, we will,” Yoda said.  “Not Venge himself.  Make it clear we will that in his right mind, he is not.  The warrant for his arrest, propaganda it will be.  Fight fire with fire, we must.”

Padmé shook her head.  “It doesn’t matter.  If he really is having a dissociative episode, condemning him and issuing an order for his arrest, well-intentioned or not, is only going to make things worse.  He’s not going to be thinking things through logically, the way we are.”

“We don’t have a choice,” Anakin said.  “If we don’t respond to these allegations, it’ll be a public-relations disaster.”

“So we’re arranging to execute an innocent woman and throw Venge under the speederbus to save _face?_   Have you all gone _insane?_ ”

“This is the way war is fought, Ambassador,” Thrawn said, his voice quiet and lethal.  “If you lack the stomach for it, you may excuse yourself from these conferences in the future and confine your attention to the sphere of diplomacy.”

Padmé stared daggers around the table.  “I don’t know what’s happening to all of you, but I refuse to be a part of it.  _I_ am going to requisition a ship and find Venge.  I’m going to help him.”  Then she leveled a finger at Thrawn.  “And you _,_ Lord Admiral – if you _ever_ tell me to just keep my head down and stay in my skylane again, I will shoot you.  And I’ll do it so that you don’t even get to die.”

She turned her back on them and stormed out of the war room.


	9. Boundaries/Terminus

He found Padmé in her quarters.  She was sitting at a table, surrounded by half-packed luggage, and staring at an uncorked bottle of Naboo blossomwine.  There was a significant amount of the liquor already missing from the bottle.

“This is like something out of a holovid,” said Vice-Admiral Anakin Skywalker.

Padmé started violently enough that it was obvious she hadn’t heard the door to her quarters open.  “Anakin!  What – how – why didn’t you _knock?_ ”

“I did,” he said.  “Repeatedly.  Tried the buzzer, too, though it seems you turned that off.”  He gestured at the blossomwine.  “That stuff must be potent.”

“A little,” she admitted, her cheeks reddening.  “What are you doing here?  I thought you were off campaigning.”

“I was, but I hitched a ride with Fett.  In _his_ ship it was only a twelve-hour flight.”

She regarded him with no small amount of suspicion.  “What does the Lord Admiral think about you leaving the field?”

“The campaign’s at rest right now,” Anakin said with a wave of his hand.  “It’s fine.  Though, to be honest, the Lord Admiral doesn’t know.  Just like he doesn’t know about the one-day egress ban he imposed on Kamino for ‘security reasons.’”

It took Padmé a moment to process that.  Then her eyes widened in equal parts shock and anger.  “ _You’re_ the reason I’m still here?  Time is precious and you’ve wasted it, Anakin!”

“I knew you were fully intent on walking straight onto your ship and going after Venge,” Anakin told her.  “But going alone is too dangerous – even for a Jedi.  So I borrowed Thrawn’s authorization code to impose the egress ban, and then I made some calls.”

Padmé frowned.  “Calls?”

“A crack team of experts is on their way to assist you even as we speak.  They’ll help you find Venge.  And they’ll all be here and ready to go just before the ban ends.”

“Who?”

“Rex, Siri, Aayla, Kal Skirata, and Skirata’s adopted son Captain Ordo.”

That made Padmé gape.  “Anakin – I know for a fact that you _don’t_ have the authority to command more than half of those people.  They’re not under your aegis.”

Anakin gave her his most rakish grin.  “Well, strictly speaking, Skirata is part of the _Mando_ corps.  They don’t answer to anyone but Yoda, who’s basically given them carte blanche to do whatever they want when it comes to the war effort.  Same with Skirata’s sons, the Nulls.  And Aayla and Siri were never officially detached from bodyguard duty to you.  They’re returning on their own initiative.”

Shaking her head, Padmé motioned for him to come fully into her quarters.  She pushed a seat out from beneath the table, and he took it.

“You could have called me privately,” she accused.  “Told me to wait for the backup you were sending.”

Anakin shrugged.  “Would you have taken my call?  You were pretty angry.”

“No,” Padmé admitted.  “I probably wouldn’t have.  And I still _am_ angry.  We’re doing unconscionable things, Anakin.”

“Actions we wouldn’t be taking if Plagueis hadn’t forced our hand.  We got outplayed, Padmé.  It’s time for damage control.”

“Even if we sully ourselves in the process?”

Anakin didn’t flinch, didn’t allow himself to flinch.  “If it defeated the Sith and kept the galaxy safe,” he said, “I’d do worse, and happily.  We’re fighting for more than just ourselves.  Our hands are going to get dirty.”

Melancholy clouding her expression, Padmé shook her head.  “I thought, if ever there _were_ such a thing as a just war, surely this was it.  I thought we were on the irreproachable side of good.”

“I don’t think there is such a thing,” Anakin said.  “We can only do what we think is best.  Not even _right._   Just _best._ ”

He felt himself blush a little as Padmé unabashedly eyed him and said, “Anakin… you’ve grown up.”

“I’ve had good examples.”  He made a show of checking his wrist chrono.  “Well, I should get back.”

Padmé raised an eyebrow.  “You said yourself the campaign’s at rest.  You can’t stay for another few hours?”  She indicated the bottle of blossomwine.  “I shouldn’t be drinking in the first place, but now that I’ve opened it, it’s only got a short time before oxidation ruins it.”

Even as he opened his mouth to demur, Anakin felt the words, the excuses, catch in his throat.  He could feel her pain like a wound in the Force.  She was angry with so many people, and simultaneously upset that she was angry.  And she was worried – no, _terrified_ – for Venge.

There were other shades of pain, too.  She missed Dormé; he could certainly relate to that.  There was a hint of self-recrimination for the fact that she did not feel worse for the people who had died in Ainsport.

But beneath it all, the foundation of her monument to suffering was exhaustion.  Deep, bone-soaking exhaustion.  She had been holding everything together by sheer force of will for too long now.  Nobody could do that forever.

The Force showed him a vision, then: him, drawing her to her feet, into a kiss.  Her walls, already so fragile, collapsing.  Her surrendering to him.  He knew with the certainty of foresight that it would happen if he took that first step.

Once, Anakin would have given into the temptation of the moment.  More recently, he would have resisted, thinking, _I am a Jedi.  That is the Dark Side, tempting me through her._

Now, he just smiled at her.  Reaching out with the Force, he floated two glasses down from a shelf and placed them on the table.  He carefully picked up the bottle and poured them both a generous amount of the pale liquid.

Then, as she reached for her glass, he held up a hand.  At his command, a lacquered wooden box floated to the table off a different shelf.  It unfolded into the Alderaanian chess set he knew Qui-Gon had given her upon her appointment to the Senate.

“I can stay,” he said, reorienting the chessboard so he was black.  He liked playing black. 

He took hold of his glass and raised it.  “To absent friends.”

Padmé clinked her glass against his and had a sip.  Then she glanced down at the board.  “I guess the first move is mine.”

“That _is_ traditional,” he said.  The blossomwine tasted good.  He understood why people paid such obscene amounts of money for it.

He settled in for a long night of getting his ass kicked at chess.

* * *

When Padmé woke up the next morning, she was unsurprised to find Anakin in bed next to her.

Not _right_ next to her – he was curled up on the other side, and his lightsaber rested atop the sheets between them.  He’d placed it there last night, when she’d exhorted him to lie down with her, telling him quite truthfully that the weight of another person helped her sleep.

Looking at the lightsaber, she felt her lips twitch in a smile.  It was an old-style chivalric gesture, she knew, straight out of a Naboo epic.  It represented a barrier between them, one voluntarily erected by him.

He had grown so much in such a short amount of time.  Thinking back on last night, she reflected on how carefully he’d conducted himself.  She’d been drunk, emotional, and lonely, and she knew that as a Force user he couldn’t help but sense all of it.  He got no points for declining to take advantage of her – that was the bare minimum required of a decent being, after all – but she gave him credit for not dealing with the situation by simply leaving.  He’d handled it with grace, and even charm.

“Good morning,” she said, reaching over the lightsaber to poke him in the back.

“Ugh,” Anakin replied.  “I feel like death.”

“I told you to drink more water.  Blossomwine is heavy on sugar.”

“I didn’t even get drunk!”

“No, but you still got dehydrated.  I’d think that as a former desert-dweller you’d understand that.”

He rolled over so he could stick his tongue out at her.  “I understand fine.  I’m just saying that it’s unfair that I should be punished for not even getting drunk.”

Padmé sat up with a slight groan.  “Anakin, I think this is one of those times when the only answer I can give you is that life itself isn’t fair.”

“Well, I can’t argue with that.”  He sat up too, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed.  As he stood, he retrieved his lightsaber.  “You at least sleep okay?”

“I did.  No thanks to someone’s snoring.”

He stared at her, offended.  “Where’s Maul when you need someone called out on a blatant lie?”

She gave him a sympathetic look.  “Sorry, but I’m not lying.”

“Oh.  So I feel like death, _and_ I snore.  I’m a _snorer._   I should just jump out a window right now, shouldn’t I?”

Amused by the banter, Padmé scooted herself to the edge of the bed and took his hand in hers.  He looked at her, confused, for a moment.  “Padmé?”

“Thank you,” she said, giving his fingers a gentle squeeze.  “For staying last night.  And pulling all these strings.  And just… being here when I needed you.”

He grinned.  “Being there when you need me happens to be my specialty.”

She gazed into his eyes for several long seconds, privately turning the idea of pulling him back down onto the bed over in her mind.  In the harsh twin lights of morning and sobriety, she judged it not a particularly good one, but the temptation was still there.  She could definitely see herself falling for this new, mature Anakin Skywalker.

Then a knock sounded at her door.  “Ambassador?”  It was Rex.  “Are you there?”

“Come in, Captain,” she called, getting to her feet.  She met Anakin’s eyes again, just long enough for the two of them to exchange, without words, an agreement: _yes, we did just have a moment, and yes, the time to talk about it is_ later.  “Anakin’s here too.”

“I’ve got company with me, if that’s all right.”

“Then stop standing out there shouting through the door!” she said, letting amusement color her tone.

A few moments later, the entire team of Anakin’s ‘experts’ filed into her parlor.  Padmé felt her cheeks grow hot as she realized what the scene must look like to the five of them, then controlled herself.  Anakin was still fully dressed, even his boots still on.  So was she.  Besides, these people had tact.

Mostly.

“Don’t we look cheerful this morning,” Kal Skirata said, an impish grin on his face.  “Sorry to keep you waiting, _Pad’ika._ ”

“ _Gedet’ye, buir,_ ” Captain Ordo murmured.  Padmé found the Null interesting, especially standing next to Rex: the usual dark hair instead of blonde, the same intelligent brown eyes, but Ordo was definitely broader in the chest and shoulders.  Probably a few kilos heavier, too.  She had heard about the Kaminoans’ attempts to ‘improve’ the Fett genotype with their first attempts.  “Sorry, Ambassador.”

“It’s fine,” Padmé said breezily.  “Kal is just still sore that I beat his kill count during the Battle of Kamino.”

Siri laughed, and Padmé noted that the blonde woman had an arm casually looped around Aayla’s waist  She’d had her suspicions after they’d returned from Hapes, and it seemed they had just been confirmed.  “I think she’s throwing down, Kal,” Siri said.  “Are you going to take that?”

“It’s deserved,” Skirata replied cheerfully, with laudable good grace.

Anakin cleared his throat.  “Officially, I can’t give you any orders.  Except for Rex.  Rex, do what Padmé says.”

Rex threw a crisp salute.  “Yes, sir.”  He glanced at Padmé, gave her the faintest smile.  “We’ll find him.”

“I have no doubt,” Padmé said.  “Thank you.  All of you.”

Aayla nodded and spoke for the team.  “We are here to help you, Ambassador.  No matter where it may take us.”

“Then let me close up my bags and we’ll be on our way,” Padmé said.

“Where’s our first stop?” Siri asked.

Ordo cleared his throat.  “The logical place to start would be the last place we saw Justicar Venge – the droid control ship _Usury,_ above Corulag.  Its remains are in a stable orbit.”

“Then that’s where we’re going,” Padmé declared.

 _Venge,_ she thought.  _Hang in there.  We’re going to find you._

* * *

In deep space, at a very particular set of coordinates, the dreadnought _Invisible Hand_ hung, waiting.

Presently, a small ship exited hyperspace.  It transmitted no signals, and received none.  Nevertheless, it proceeded into the hangar of the much larger vessel.  The _Invisible Hand_ ’s guns did not fire.  Its blast doors opened to admit the ship.

On the observation deck, Darth Plagueis turned in his chair.

The black-robed figure moved soundlessly toward him, a silver-handled lightsaber gripped in its metallic right hand.  The lightsaber had a long claw protruding alongside the emitter.  The claw was covered in dried blood.

“Are you here to kill me?” Plagueis asked.

 _“Justicar Venge is,”_ the figure said in a voice like a dry, dead wind.

_“But I am not.”_

It laid the lightsaber at Plagueis’s feet and knelt.

Plagueis placed a long-fingered hand atop the crown of the figure’s masked skull.  “Welcome home,” he said.

“Darth Terminus.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's all for Journeys II! The next story in the Sith Apprentice series, "Terminus," will be up next week. I hope to see all of you there! Thanks for reading!


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